Abyss
by Thranduil's Greenleaf
Summary: Cooper and Murph(an editor) in London, managing a bookstore, called Gargantua...it seems like they were involved in some sort of illicit trade. Murph is still a girl of curiousity, while Cooper is trying to figure out alternatives, but this time he’s not lucky any more. A little bit logically rough and be aware of potential severe ooc Thanks:)


At Charing Cross, nearby the best-known Japanese restaurant in London, there's a quaint bookstore called Gargantua, selling various scholarly works as well as second-hand books. Back in the 1940s, it was merely a tiny entrance of the huge system of city's air-raid shelter, then became the site of some governmental institute which took charge of subsequent handling of post-war reconstruction. During the Cold War, the government sold the house to the public, which finally bought by Professor Cooper, who then married a wise merchant's daughter. By the time of their beloved daughter's birth in 1994, the government's former property had multiplied its territory, got cap-a-pie restorations, erecting with a legendary history and capturing college students from all over the city.

"Murph should be heading back right now," murmured Joseph Cooper, gazing at the fabulous afterglow of sunlight fading into darkness, "after all, the advent of new PM must have brought him much work to do."

He got up from his antique armchair, looked around the bookstore. It was early winter. Students, his common guests, were all confined inside school libraries, busy preparing for finals. Therefore at the moment, the past crowd were gone, leaving Mr Cooper with precious leisure.

As usual, Mr Cooper collected open books left by the guests, carefully returned them back to origin shelves. A little sculpture at the corner stumbled him once again."bloody hell! I shouldn't have allowed Murph to keep it here." Indeed, he shouldn't. His daughter, Murphy, carved it fifteen years ago and nearly cut her thumb off at the time. Because of the sufferings, Murph loved it more than any stuff, uncompromisingly kept it till now, even urged her father to get a decent place in the bookstore, which was inundated with books and magazines, to demonstrate that delicate artefact. Yet Mr Cooper compromised, though the bookstore was the only consolation for his wife's death in the past two years.

They met at the university in which Mr Cooper worked, together they started a bookstore at Charing Cross, thanks to the fiancé from Mrs Cooper's father. After the car accident that took her life, he quitted the job as a History professor, devoted all his time to the bookstore once mainly managed by Mrs Cooper.

The car accident...

For two years, he had not for a moment believed that it was a normal accident. In fact, that was totally a death foretold, through his cell phone.

Because of him, Murph lost her mother.

A stringent sound arose from the door.

Doorbell.

"Welcome back, our great chief editor of The Times. How's the day? Oh, you are freezing! Come and eat."

"I'm fine, dad. Sorry for keeping you waiting. But I have to say, today everyone in the office was all frantic! The new PM said he's gonna lead a crusade against crime, which I think quite critical nowadays...thanks...wow it's delicious! You made all these pancakes, dad?"

Mr Cooper answered, "then who else? I'm going to burn my head off learning to cook only for pleasing you guy." He replied with an affable smile, as if finished dishes was the most satisfying fruition.

Rough winds were howling outside the window, tilting the pale light of street lamps. Murph was asleep. She was exhausted after being alert and faking smiles all day long. And at the moment he still was, yet current smile merely indicates that he spent a good day at the newspaper office.

Buzz buzz.

An anonymous call at Mr Cooper's phone.

Something wicked this way came.

"Hello?"

"Good evening, Mr Cooper. Hope I didn't wake you up. Do you remember how your daughter got into The Times two years ago?"

Of course, I do. It was a miracle, absolutely.

Two years ago, in 2007, a mysterious drug trading system was working secretly and rampantly, which left no trace within a few years. If Murph hadn't taken the photos showing the trade between a group of addicts, London would have become a city of drugs. One evening, Murph heard some whispers while walking past an abandoned building. Out of curiosity, she sneaked in and to his surprise, she saw a gang with more than a dozen men exchanging white powders. No, not powders. It was heroin.

On the following day, she sent those photos to her internship company, The Times, and later was asked to have a friendly talk with the boss, who told her that she got the job. Everyone said that Murph was the luckiest in the world, that she took away all the fortunes from Drug Enforcement Administration. And so did Murph think.

What Murph didn't know is that the day before the arrestment of the drug lord (thanks to Murph's detailed photos), her father received an anonymous phone call, threatened him to disguise a secret meeting place for drug trades with his bookstore, under their demands, otherwise he would be punished. The drug lord was arrested early in the morning, it would take years before the organisation thrive again. He thought, and consequently neglected the call.

It was a pity that he had no idea he would spend the rest of his life in remorse.

"Memorised the past yet? Tomorrow morning, attend the raffle in the community, set the prize—a coffee machine in your bookstore, put it into use. Follow the demands and keep your mouth shut. Or you will get exactly the same punishment. You know that, right? Send my regards to our chief editor of The Times."

Call the police.

Call the police! NOW!

There was no call history of the call just now. _How they managed to do that? No, it can't be true. No call came in. I was so solicitous for Murph that I had illusions._

_Is that so? You know it really happened, don't you? Admit it, you've been trembling with panic, waiting for that call for damn two years. Eventually, you got to the deadlock, as you expected._

_I cannot live without Murph._

_But WHY ME?_

Slowly he slipped against the wall and reached the floor. Anaemic fists, off and on, directly at the wall. Suddenly he realised something for the first time: the wall is empty inside.

Oh, bloody restoration. In 1992, the government alleged that the walls were weak and made some reinforcements on the exterior.

Then he memorised the capacious air-raid shelter somewhere beneath him; the curious, audacious college students from all around the city, and their crazy loves to coffee; also, the bookstore itself,——former government's property.

The day when Murph came back with astonishment, gripped her camera in hands——that's three days before the arrestment of the 'drug lord'; and one more day before the destructive car accident.

Gargantua, the bookstore, was a perfect bulwark, spared from the unknown enemy for years, while Murph started the defence war.

Two years was yesterday, and yesterday was just earlier this morning, and morning seemed light-years away.

Murph was still sleeping like a baby, in her bedroom, safe and sound.

_I have no alternative. For Murph, I must be invincible._

All this time There's only one way——

Jump into the abyss.


End file.
